


Brón Le Cúis

by Forgotten_Logic



Series: Escapism and Romanticism [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Belly Kink, Depression, Don’t copy to another site, Fat!Rodimus, Masturbation, Other, Pining Rodimus, Pining Thunderclash, Soft Body Robots, Unhealthy Habits, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: Brón Le Cúis: "Sadness With Reason" in Irish.Fic Trade.Rodimus is upset about there being no adventure to be on anymore, and it shows. And Thunderclash just wants to make him happy best he can.





	Brón Le Cúis

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a friend!
> 
> and IM SORRY  
> i really tried  
> I haven't written in months  
> but I really hope you like this!

Everything had pretty much gone downhill: the Lost Light sold for scraps, his Amica hadn't spoken to him since Ratchet's passing. It seemed like the only adventures he had left to live for were what kind of breakfast/lunch/dinner/between meal snack/etc. he was going to gorge himself with.

Earlier, despite his distaste for the mech, Thunderclash brought him some Salaverian slabs. When Rodimus got a look at the so-called slabs, it was more calzone-like. Those deceptively plain looking delights were too good to really have just one, or five, or the rest of the box.

The only reason he woke up at all was from the ping blocking up the slight bit of sight. He groaned, laying on his back with a sigh, arms straining to shift his girth farther up to the headboard. With a grunt, he laid his servo over his bare chest. Apparently, there had still been a half of a pseudo-calzone, meaty insides falling out between his breasts, grease collecting there.

He grabbed what was left of it and threw it haphazardly into his mouth, licking his thick digits of anything left behind. And he was pinged again. He already forgot why he woke up on the first place and that irritating buzz in his still fuzzy HUD was _still_ the mech that grinded his gears. Still, in a wakeful delirium, he answered the ping with a garbled, half-chewed food in filling the free space in his maw. "'eah? What?"

He only half listened to what Mr. Perfect Captain had to say, most of what was said was in one audial and out the other. It was all the same thing, there wasn't much point to listen. It was only a mixture of Thunderclash's poorly hidden concern for and care for the briefly named Prime, and a short list of something he'd bring to Rodimus as a meal. 

"Uh-huh," he found himself saying, idly rubbing the heavy bulb, scratching under a greasy boob. He leaned over with a wheeze for the remote, turning the tv on if only for the background noise. Even now he wasn't sure if it was to quiet the sound of Go-Choke-On-My-Aft-Clash or to sully his own thoughts. 

"See you soon, Rodimus." Curt, as usual. Like that, he was alone again. Not like that will matter. He reached with a grumble to the side table and not grabbed the only friend he had left. Yes, it was a bit crusty from last time but with a quick servo going over the ribbed surface, and an even quicker tap of a button to make sure it still had some power left. 

_Thrummm!_

He could at least have some fun before 'Clash comes with his snacks. He at least had a hours before he’d be off shift anyway so why wait if he could get at least _a half decent_ overload. Even for him, he was not always one for a toy but it’s not like anyone here—or even Drift—would want to have anything to do with him now.

He shifted up with a grunt, dual head vibrator--he imagined it was the red and white unit he wished he got railed by--positioned it just between his fat lips. _I bet you’d take me easy, wouldn’t you_ , he heard Drif’t’s voice in his helm. He closed his optics, roling it inside. Flicking a switch made him moan wontonly. _So easy, butterball_ , Drift’s voice clouded his HUD.

Rodimus thrusted the the head, first ring of calipers rippling around the ribbed silicon. The vibrations sending pleasured pings across his neuralnet, a quiet keen escaping his lips. _I should fill you with my shaft_.

* * *

It wasn’t much longer after he made the call to Rodimus that he was already to his HAB. Thunderclash had seen him almost everyday, some purpose everyday, with almost no deviation. He fingered in the code for the door, the smell when it opened still surprised him.

When he stepped in, the tv was on and it was relatively quiet. As Thunderclash's optics, rapt with concern and poorly hidden lust, skimmed the once slim speedster from full cheeks down to large breasts to the lump of lard Rodimus now hailed as a gut. He made himself avert his gaze upon the sight of Rodimus’ exposed, toy-fill inlet and the aroma it gave off. 

He cleared his throat, door closing behind him. “Rodimus, I have something for you,” just above a whisper, walking over to the side of rotund cars’ berth. He put down the two white take-out boxes, plucking up the empty and greasy one that lay next to him on the berth. Sheets stained with an array of slightly different colors.

Rodimus grunted, optics still lidded. “‘Reat.” He scratched his chest, cracking an optic open, if only just to know what was next in his adventure. He could assume it was Thunderclash, he never had any other visiters anyway. “What is it?” His chubby spoiler flapped against his pillows as he pushed adjusted to sit back up.

“Seres food. Noodles and meats, you know.”

Rodimus lazily stretched, reaching for the fork on top in place of the chopsticks. They fell to the side when he grabbed one box and setting it on his mound, popping it open. The savory aroma was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Thunderclash was still merely feet away, watching stick a fork into the steaming slices of meat and swirling noodles onto it as well, imediately shoving it in his mouth.

"The others miss you coming around," Thunderclash paused, mouth going dry, "I miss seeing you on deck." 

"Stop lying." He rolled his optics, taking another bite, mouth still full, "I don' miss it. Your bridge," he quieted, aside from the chewing.

He came closer, field flickering with _hurt_. "You think I'm lying? After all that's happened, you think I would I would lie to you?"

“Can you go?” Rodimus’ own discomfort filtered through his field, unusually dull for the mech that Thunderclash often made metaphors of him being a sun in his galaxy. And Rodimus had only heard _a few_ but he wasn’t the mech he wanted. The mech he wanted didn’t even _care_ to talk to him now.

Thunderclash just sighed. He didn’t want to argue but he certainly wished he could bring Rodimus some comfort. He couldn’t offer him a title, nor an adventer, but he could bring him what he asked for. 

"You wouldn't understand,” Rodimus said suddenly, swalling thickly. “Please just get out.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?”

Rodimus grumbled, optics trained straight toward the telivision. Obviously a Terran movie, one that he’d seen on the Lost Light. It held his attention better than ‘Clash ever could. He took a large fork-full of noodles, slurping up what managed to dangle from his lips.

The Captain resiegned, taking the empty now crushed box back to the door. “I’ll see you later.” Thankfully, he left quickly.

He snorted, “This place’ll never be my _Home_.”

**Author's Note:**

> lakjf;alkj So,, Seres in Latin means Chinese. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider [commissioning me](https://madroboticmax.blogspot.com/p/commission-info.html)!


End file.
